Yet

I remember each time

It began to feel this way

These precious illusions crumble

With the frailty of my heart

One who expects too much…

“So why haven’t you killed yourself yet?”

She asks me…

She actually asks me this question…

I suppose though

I’ve had many greatest days ever known

“Sorry to disappoint you…

Like you fucking disappoint me”

But like you say

“Two wrongs don’t make a right”

But I can’t recall, as if it mattered

Which came first

Somehow I think it does make a difference

Or at least it should for reasons

Like silence, your silence

But there’s no way to tell you this

Those words have previously fallen to the floor

As well as any possible love for this whore

ⓒ 2002 Shawn Michael Quinn